


Meet the Songwriter

by Serazimei



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friendship, Gwent (The Witcher), Humor, M/M, Post-War, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, probably, they never met before
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serazimei/pseuds/Serazimei
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier missed each other in Posada, Jaskier arriving just a few days late. But he gets the story of the Devil in the Fields and the song becomes a hit. So what if everyone thinks he's friends with the White Wolf now? It boosts both their reputation. Surely the Witcher won't mind him singing about his adventures, right?After the war is over and Ciri is grown, Geralt becomes curious about the bard who is supposedly his best friend and goes to look for the one who turned him from the Butcher to the White Wolf.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 165





	Meet the Songwriter

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: This fic was inspired by the Journal Entry about Dandelion in Witcher 1. Back then I had no clue about the Witcher Saga and didn't know that the games played after the books. As this is wildly alternative canon my lack of knowledge shouldn't have made this fic too unbearable to read. Although I still blush in embarassment for my naivity.
> 
> These are the questions the entry pulled into my head: What if Geralt and Jaskier really never met throughout the whole war? And Jaskier just trailed behind, always right out of reach and danger, taking up snippets of information and spinning them into tales? And what if Geralt never thought about correcting the rumours?

The first morning after the last loose ends of the war had been tied neatly into knots Geralt woke with the weariness of an old man close to his deathbed. The aftershocks of what had happened in the last years would be felt for decades to come. Maybe that‘s why the relief of not being involved in the politics of it anymore didn‘t set in. At least everything had ended as well as it could have, given the circumstances. Ciri was still alive, he had still been able to stay friends with Yennefer and Triss. There hadn‘t been as many casualties as there could have been… It didn‘t make the loss of friends less painful, nor the dread of continuing on the Path less persistent. Letting out a slow, long breath he stood from the bed and went about getting dressed for the day. The pit in his stomach stayed even after he went to Roach and started on his way to the next town. He was...listless, would be the best way to describe it. He was more free than ever, in a way. Destiny finally retracting its claws from his shoulders. And he didn‘t yet know what he should do with that. For now he stubbornly clung to his old ways. Because while the mutagens had stripped off some of his humanity, he was still a creature of habit. And monster hunting was the only normal he was familiar with.  
He thought about just staying in the wilderness for a while, avoiding all signs of civilization. But Roach was getting old and craved the luxury of a dry stable once in a while. And no contracts would come to him in fields and forests. So begrudgingly, after days on a dusty, abandoned path, he guided Roach onto the main road and to a small, pretty looking village, that had been lucky enough to have stayed untouched by the war.  
As he entered the tavern the local bard took one look at him and started playing „Toss a Coin“. It was a familiar song. One of the many songs he had heard about himself during his travels. His own adventures mirrored back at him, even if distorted. He had been confused the first time he had heard this particular one that started it all. Back then he had still been mostly known as The Butcher of Blaviken. He had stepped into a tavern not unlike this one and instead of fear in the eyes of the patrons there had been awe. It had been confusing as fuck. Because after some asking around he apparently was rumoured to be travelling with a bard. And that bard was writing down his heroics and spinning them into songs. He even found out the minstrels name by accident. Jaskier. Probably not even his real name.  
It was odd. Because Geralt had not met this Jaskier even once in the twenty something years leading up to the shitshow that had been Cintras fall and the inevitable spread and conclusion of the war. And yet song after song had sprung up, telling of his adventures, some eerily close to the truth.  
Geralt had shrugged it off at that time. It wasn‘t like he wanted to have a companion and that Jaskier fellow seemed like he would have been a handful. He also didn‘t mind the good publicity he and, by default, his other Witcher friends were getting. Jaskiers songs were always praising The White Wolf and seemed to remind the people that they needed the monster hunters. That they could trust them more than mercenaries or soldiers. He was thankful for that, in a way. And because of that he also didn‘t clip down the rumours telling of the bard travelling with a Witcher. If Jaskier boosted the Witchers image, than who was Geralt to cut him off the source of his own fame.  
He had been curious from time to time. Mostly whenever he heard a new song about himself. After first listening to „Her Sweet Kiss“ he had been very close to jumping up and combing through the continent to find the troublemaking, noisy troubadour. Possibly to strangle the soul out of the idiot. But something had always sprung up. Whether it was Destiny rearing its ugly head, or some sort of monster.  
But now…  
Geralt sipped his ale in thought listening to the female bard as she sung all of Jaskiers greatest hits. Now he didn‘t really have anything better to do, did he? He could fight monsters anywhere. And maybe it was high time he tracked down the bard. He wondered how old the man was now. And if he really was as shiny a character as everyone said he was.

Jaskier would have told you that he was indeed, very shiny. A star at the peak of his success. Writing songs about a Witcher had been the best idea of his life. It was what had made him so famous, after all. The first hit „Toss a Coin“ had been a lucky accident at the start of his young career. He had arrived in Posada right after Geralt of Rivia had left and had snapped up bits and peaces of a grand story. Immediately his head had been full of ideas and he had cooped himself up in his small room in an inn for three days straight to compose the song. Adding himself into the tale had been a naive way of starting the song. Jaskier hadn‘t thought about how it would be percieved. He was a bard for fucks sake. He had thought people knew that bards never really told the truth. Apparently folks believed everything thrown in their face, because as soon as „Toss the Coin“ became famous rumours sprung up that he was travelling with the Butcher of Blaviken. Which made him even more famous, weirdly enough.  
So Jaskier rolled with it.  
Geralt was tracked down easily enough most of the time. People were talkative and they had been in proximity to each other, so Jaskier only ever needed to follow the scared whispers of monsters, of white hair and golden eyes.  
He had always made sure not to actually bump into the Witcher. He liked to write about adventure and danger well enough, but didn‘t actually want to experience any of it. He had had enough excitement in the sheets, or sometimes out of them whenever he had bedded the wrong person or had riled up someone while drunk. And anyway, he didn‘t think that Geralt of Rivia would have been too happy to see him. From what he had gathered the Witcher was grumpy and rude at the best of times. And Jaskier knew that he was quite the bright, bubble personality. They probably would have gotten on each others nerves in minutes. Or at least Jaskier would have.  
Sometimes the craving had been there, of course. He had trailed slowly behind the biggest magnet for trouble, someone dunked in Destiny, for decades after all. One couldn‘t help but get a little curious. It was like having a penmate. At some point you just really wanted to meet them in person. Just to see what they are really like.  
Jaskier had not given in to his urges. Instead he had taken breaks whenever his feet had carried him a little too fast into the direction of the White Wolf. He went to Oxenfurt, studied, mastered the seven liberal arts and joined a spy guild because apparently even while he swore that danger and adventure wasn‘t for him, he always got tangled up in whole piles of shit on his own. It probably was a given. A bard in court, was as good as a bird in a pit of vipers. So he did have a few near death experiences of his own, none of which he turned into songs. Again his title as the White Wolfs bard served him well in those situations. Friends of Geralt oftentimes heard of his peril and came to rescue him. And wasn‘t it a curious thing, that the Witcher hadn‘t declared all the rumours to be false? Or maybe he had and no one wanted to listen to him. Whatever it was, Jaskier was greatful for the misunderstanding.  
And he still was, after the war, sitting in a renowned tavern in Oxenfurt, for once not the one entertaining the guests. This was a pub for students and so, only students performed. It was sweet, seeing their eyes light up when they saw him in the crowd. And Jaskier always made sure to look them in the eyes, smile encouragely and toast his pint at them.  
He was taking a sip when the hairs at the back of his neck stood up and something like sparks crackled in his stomach. Now after years and years of tracking down the Wolf he had kind of developed a sixth sense for the Witcher. Jaskier fidgeted in his seat and peered around the room, heart starting to beat far faster than was probably good for his age.  
That was, before it decided to stop entirely for a second as he spotted the figure entering the pub.  
White hair and golden eyes, draped in black leather and tight chainmail. The White Wolf was a sight to behold indeed. Already new lyrics for epic ballads sprung up in Jaskiers mind. Their gazes met and something like recognition flickered over Geralts face.  
Jaskier could only sit there and wait as the Witcher made his way over to him with a tight lipped smile, plopping down beside him as if they really had been friends for a long time. Something in Jaskiers chest rattled. Maybe it was his treacherous heart again.  
He send the Witcher one of his most dazzling smiles and waved down a waitress to order another ale for his friend.

„Fancy meeting you here, Geralt! What brings you to this fine city? I know you hate crowded places such as these and I‘ve not heard of a monster terrorizing the area.“

„Hmm. I came for you, actually.“

The Witcher grinned as Jaskier spluttered, caught between terror and pride. „I‘m no monster I‘m afraid.“

„No.“ Geralt said slowly, rolling the word on his tongue as if he had to examinate it first. „You are a big lier though.“

Jaskier shrugged and grinned into his ale. Wow his first meeting with the Witcher went much better than he had thought it would. At least he hadn‘t received a punch in the face yet. „Which is not a crime as far as I‘m aware. At least in most circumstances, especially not in the way I‘m lying. And believe me, I should know the rules. I break them all the time. Now tell me, what does a big, independent Witcher want from a humble bard such as myself?“

The snort that the White Wolf made was unexpected, but delightful to hear all the same. „You are many things, but humble certainly is not one of them.“

„Oh? And you would know?“

„I would. Apparently we‘ve known each other for years, after all.“

„Hmmhm?“ Jaskier raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. „Rumour would have it, yes.“

Geralt huffed. „I‘m not the only one they gossip about, you know.“

And didn‘t that boost his ego up to the high heavens. The White Wolf, graced by a great Destiny, had found time to learn more about the humble bard during his travels. Wasn‘t that just heartwarming?

„And what do they talk about, may I ask?“

Geralt looked at him, lips tugging up a bit and Jaskier was sure that this was supposed to be a teasing smirk for some reason. „That you are a troublemaker and a womanizer. A scoundrel of the worst variety, but with such overflowing talent and charm that you can weasle your way out of nearly every situation. Oh and they also say that you are the best and probably only friend I have, always loyal by my side.“

„Well...That bit with the overflowing talent and charm is certainly true. Everything else might be a gross exaggeration.“

Geralts smirk grew and now it really could be identified as teasing. „So you aren‘t my most loyal companion?“

„I might be in a sense.“ Jaskier nodded to himself. „ Of course I wasn‘t really by your side per se, but I did trail behind your path in about three days distance. And I did boost your image and sometimes cleaned up the mess you left behind reputation wise. And I have gotten quite versatile and I do have a vast knowledge of monster lore-“

„You know jack shit Jaskier. All of your monster descriptions are wrong.“ Geralt cut off his rambling.

„Now that is…!“ Jaskier, for once didn‘t know what to say. He tried to defend his honour anyway. „It‘s called creative license Geralt! Really!“

„Of course.“ Geralt drawled „You have seen plenty of Harpies and Ghouls and Griffins before.“

Jaskier knew a challenge when he saw one. He also never could seem to back down whenever he was given the opportunity. „I might have. Ghastly things.“

„Hmm. Very short description, don‘t you think, wordsmith.“

„Oh poo! So I haven‘t. People don‘t seem to care for the inaccuracies. They just want entertainment.“

They both waved down the waitress again to get more ale flowing between them. They had turned to each other while talking, knees touching, relaxed. Despite the image of Witchers having gone up thanks to Jaskiers songs, most of the patrons in the pub were still wary and fearful. The woman serving the alcohol only scooted close enough to dump the new pints of ale onto their table before fleeing again. Jaskier thought they were all being overdramatic. Geralt, to him, looked more sexy than intimidating. And he was surprisingly talkative. He had yet to utter one, one syllable sentence. Maybe his time with Ciri had taught him how to communicate better. Or maybe the Witcher only really spoke to people he wanted to and disregarded the rest. Somehow the thought of the White Wolf giving him special attention felt better than any raving applaus he had ever gotten in his lifetime.

„I care for the inaccuracies. You‘re misinforming people, Jas. And then I suddenly get contracts saying they want me to slay wolves when its actually wargs.“

„So what do you want me to do, stop singing them?“ Jaskier mumbled, a little butthurt.

Geralt shrugged, humming. „You could always tag along for real and learn. That is, if you‘re not too old for the road.“

„Excuse me?! I‘m fourty-five. I‘m in the prime of my life! The nerve...“ Jaskier muttered into his pint, while Geralt huffed a laugh.

„So?“

Jaskiers gaze flickered to his drinking companion, taking in the sharp, intelligent eyes and then scanning his form, the two swords strapped on his back, the scars. Travelling with a Witcher would be dangerous. Much more so than any of the halfhearted spy work he had done during the war. But fuck if he didn‘t itch to say yes.

„I don‘t know.“ he spoke reluctantly. Oh damn how he wanted. „I‘d like to stay alive for a bit longer, you know. Why don‘t you tell me instead?“

Molten gold seared into his brain as Geralt searched his face. He must have caught onto something curious, because he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at the bard.

„How about a round of Gwent?“

The question threw Jaskier off, seemingly having no connection to the rest of the conversation. „What? Now? I mean yes, I‘m always up for a game. But this came quite out of nowhere, don‘t you think?“

„Not really. A round of Gwent. I win you come with me. You win I tell you everything I know.“

Jaskier furrowed his brow in thought. Damn the Witcher for reading him like an open book. It seemed he really had informed himself about the bard or maybe he was just a good people reader in general.

„Sounds like a fair deal to me.“ he said before his brain could finish processing the pros and cons of the situation.

Geralt flashed him a smile that was more predatory than friendly and brought out his cards. Jaskier placed himself opposite of him, took out his own deck and the game started. The first round was a fast one. Jaskier was too nervous to strategize, passing too early.  
By the second round a few curious souls, mostly Jaskiers students, dared to inch closer to watch. And by the time they were done with it they had gotten rowdy and loud, shouting advice and encouragements, some taking Jaskiers side, some Geralts. None knew what they were playing for, but that didn‘t dull their enthusiasm.  
Jaskier won this time and wasn‘t sure if he should breath a sigh of relief or be disappointed. It didn‘t really matter. He had gambled too high in the second round, playing all but one card. Which left him with four in the third and Geralt with a whooping eight. It still was a close one. Jaskier stared at the count when it was over pretty sure that destiny was mocking him with it. One point. It had been one point that decided everything.

Geralt grinned like the cat that got the canary. Or wolf that got the lark, in this case. Whatever. Jaskier was panicking too much to come up with good, original metaphors at the moment. „Good game. I‘ll see you at sunrise in front of the town gates, tomorrow.“

Jaskier could only nod numbly, packing away his cards with halting movements. Geralt was swift to get up and gave the bards shoulder a light squeeze on his way out. The crowd tried to get Jaskier to talk, hungry for a good story. But he only gave them one of his bright, but tired smiles. One of those he had perfected for especially tidious company. There was a 50/50 chance that it would pull on the heartstrings of his audience, which would then leave him be. The chances were higher in Oxenfurt, though. The students here already adored him. They backed off easily.  
Still a bit shaken he went on his way to his temporary lodging. Mind racing with the next steps he had to take now.

Geralt wasn‘t sure if he had done the right thing as he stood there waiting for his travel companion. It had felt like a good idea yesterday, when he had first laid eyes on the bard that was supposed to be his best friend. He honestly had just wanted to scare the man a little. He had thought Jaskier was just like most of the other humans. All bark and no bite. But there had not been a trace of fear in Jaskiers scent when he had approached. And the minstrel had fallen right into step with him, not missing a beat in starting a conversation. It had been refreshing. And something in Geralts gut twisted at the thought that he could have had that kind of easy companionship decades ago. He doubted that he would have cherished it as he would now. Travelling with Yennefer and Ciri had made him softer, broke down a lot of his mental walls and got rid of the especially harmful coping mechanisms. Thinking of the long days on the road alone made him speak the offer of travelling together. Geralt had honestly anticipated a solid no. Instead he got a heavy scent of excitement mixed with a bit of fear. The way Jaskier hesitated before not really declining, but pointing out an alternative. Geralt had given the bard a way out with the card game. But he had accepted and then Geralt had won, if only barely. And now he was waiting and the sun had already risen high. So maybe he had misinterpreted everything. Or maybe Jaskier had gotten cold feet. The Witcher wouldn‘t hunt him down if he had. He didn‘t want to force the bard to come with him. It did hurt a little. The rejection.

Geralt heaved a sigh and patted Roach, who nibbled on some strands of his hair in reply. „Well, seems like it‘s just going to be the two of us again.“ But neither of them moved. The minutes ticked by, the guards at the gate already getting a bit antsy.

„E-excuse me? Sir?“

A boy not older than thirteen ran up to him, wringing his hands as he came to a stop a few meters away. Geralt hmmed in question.

„Professor Pankratz – uhm – Jaskier sent me. He t-told me to call...Please don‘t kill me for saying this-“ Geralt furrowed his brow in confusion and raising panic. The kid looked about ready to cry. „He...he told me to call you a dolt, sir.“ The boy winced and flinched, even though Geralt hadn‘t moved an inch, only raised an eyebrow and quirked a corner of his lips up. That seemed to give the boy courage to go on. „ He said to call you a dolt, because of thinking that he could get all his affairs in order before sunrise, when every sensible man is sleeping at night. He said to tell you that if you could wait a few more days until he had everything settled, that would be nice. This letter-“ and the brave thing handed him a gold rimmed envelope with a heavy red wax seal. „Will give you access to free lodging and food. He said you should take a few days off while waiting. And...“ Here the boy looked uncomfortable again. „And to take a bath because you stink of death and he won‘t allow his friend to run around like a heathen.“

Geralt couldn‘t help it, he snorted. With slow movements so as to not spook the boy any further he took out his pouch and pulled an Oren from it. „Thank you for the message. Here, for your trouble.“

The kid stared at him with wide eyes. „But sir, Professor Pankratz already paid me plenty. He said you don‘t have much, you don‘t have to-“

Jaskier obviously knew who to trust with messages around here. „It‘s fine. You earned it. If not for the message than for the honesty.“

The kid beamed and took the coin. Obviously labeling him as non-threatening he even offered to show him the way to his temporary home, which Geralt gladly accepted.  
Out of all the scenarios Geralt had imagined this one had never crossed his mind. He had thought about Jaskier running from him, dismissing him or, at the best, mildly tolerating his presence for a bit to get some more tales. But not this. His mind could have never conjured up a quaint white town house with a beautiful garden. There was a warm stable for Roach and a huge room with a luxurous bed for Geralt to sleep in. The old couple in the house greeted him with respect, the man especially had a mischievious glint in his eyes. As if he knew what was going on and found it hilarious. But was too polite to say anything.  
They made him food that tasted like heaven and the bathtub for once fit his whole frame and more. Sitting in the garden, in one of the white ornate chairs sharpening one of his swords, made him feel like he was actually in retirement. Jaskier found him there around noon. He had a spring in his step and a smile on his face and Geralt found himself mirroring the good mood.

„I see you took my offer.“ the bard chirped. „I‘ll be right back.“ Jaskier marched right past him and into the house, coming back moments later with a fine red wine from Toussaint and two glasses.

„I feel like I‘m being bribed here.“ Geralt commented lightly.

„Nonsense. I‘m just showing you a bit of my world, before you show me a bit of yours. It‘s only fair, don‘t you think.“

„Hmmm.“ that was...a rather nice thought, actually. „You‘re not going to guilt trip me on the road with this later on?“

Jaskier made an offended noise. „You sure are a mistrustful bastard. I‘m being a good host, for Meliteles sake! And I‘ll tell you I‘ve been on the road before. I‘ve tracked you for over twenty years, don‘t think I don‘t know of the hardships of travelling. Especially because you, apparently, have no regard for what is generally supposed to be good travelling weather. I know for a fact that you‘ve gone on through blizzards and hailstorms before, you absolute madman.“

Geralt took a sip of the red liquid and leaned back a bit. „So you stalked me. I‘m actually a bit impressed by that.“

„Thank...you?“

„Don‘t let it get to your head. Anyway, it was rather mean of you to make that poor boy say all that to me. He was close to crying, thinking I would kill him for being disrespectful.“

„Oh Flynn? The boy‘s a brave one, I knew he‘d be fine. He was the only one I could think of that would actually get through with delivering the whole message.“

„He did. He also called you Professor Pankratz.“

Jaskier snorted. „Oh didn‘t do your homework as well as I thought you did. I‘m giving guest lectures here, mostly during the winter when the roads get hard to travel. But now that the war has settled I had decided to stay a bit longer to get some rest before leaving again. My real name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, by the way.“

„That‘s a mouthful.“

Jaskier laughed. „Exactly. I‘ve grown rather fond of just being called Jaskier.“

„Suits you better.“

The bard grinned at him. „Why aren‘t you just charming? Now you might see why I need some time before I can start following you around. I still have at least two lectures to give before someone else can take over. And I need to buy rations and new clothes for the road. If you get bored while waiting I heard the village a days ride out has a Drowner problem. Just tell me and I‘ll meet you there.“

Geralt thought about that for a second, then shook his head. „No I‘ll wait here. Drowners are a good starting point for you, I think. Shouldn‘t get you killed if you decide to tag along.“

„Brilliant!“

They fell into a routine laughably easy. After three days it already felt like they had known each other their whole lifes. When they finally set out, riding side by side, it was like the universe finally clicked into place. Geralt found that Jaskier talked a lot. And hummed, and sung and plucked at his lute nearly constantly. Despite the chatter Jaskier never made him talk more than he was comfortable with. It was too much, at times. But mostly it was just the right amount of noise.  
Geralt had been late to adopt his bard. He knew he had preciously little time left with the little songbird.  
But feeling Jaskiers weight pressed into his side as the man snored into his ear he vowed to cherish every moment they had together.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly started playing Gwent only so I could write about it right. Cue me wasting more time playing  
> the Card Game than actually writing this fic.


End file.
